The Desert Rose
by anima vivere
Summary: What do a dead investigator and sightings of a long dead Las Vegas legend have in common? While Nick and Catherine try to find the murderer of an old PI, Greg and Sarah chase rumours about a legendary concubine whose murder remained a mystery for the past 32 years.


**CSI: Desert Rose**

**Chapter I**

Night was falling in old Las Vegas. As the sun drew nearer to the horizon the masses of fun-seekers got drawn to the strip. Many were only tourists, seeking a moment of sinful pleasure. All of them were in awe for the lights, the sense of free sin and the underlying feeling that there were no rules, that all was possible.

At one end of the strip, or at least at the point that was considered to be the 'official' end of the strip, there was an old club. It was considered old because it had been around for 35 years, an eternity in this town. 'The Red Rose' was a piece of history: founded by and once home to the legendary 'Desert Rose', the most notorious concubine of Las Vegas. Slender legged and well build, this brunette with eyes the colour of a summer sky was said to be able to 'finish' a man by merely looking him in the eye. Unlike its founder the club had survived, for the 'Desert Rose' was no more: killed in a locked room, with a single bullet, Rose had entered immortality and taken her place among the other legends of Sin City. The murderer was never caught.

Tonight, people gathered as a new show was about to start in the home of this long dead legend. It was supposed to be a homage to her. It was no surprise than, that several young women had come to pay her tribute by dressing up like her. Many women were wearing the Rose's characteristic Al Capone-suit, complete with the hat askew. No one noticed her at first, a young woman dressed like the Rose. It wasn't until later, when the show was over and people began to leave, that an old visitor saw her. A VIP because he had known the Desert Rose, he saw her standing across the street, the eyes fixed at the Red Rose. For one moment, one impossible moment, he felt as if the years had rolled back and the Desert Rose herself was looking at him from across the gaps of history. The next moment she walked away. If it had been any other he would've thought that she was just another girl playing dress up, but she wasn't… The way she had tilted her head to the side and the way her hips had moved… It was her. The Desert Rose had returned.

Catherine was not in her best mood when she arrived at the hotel: she had hoped to catch up on some paperwork and reading some resumes since they were a CSI short. She had hovered above her chair, about to sit down, when the call came. Grumpy, she had ordered Nick Stokes to come with her since had looked far too happy next to the coffee machine. As they hauled their kits out of the back of the car Brass walked up to them.

"I swear, the criminals are getting more cynical then me nowadays."

"More cynical then you?" Nick joked. "Not possible."

Brass lifted his eyebrows: "Oh really, sport? Than explain why, out of all the guests at this shabby hotel, this crime-lover decides the kill the guy in room 4-19."

"4-19? Like in…"

"Yes, Nicky. Like in 'we have a murder'."

Brass' mood was obviously not any better than Catherine's so Nick did what every smart person would do and remained silent… for a while.

In the hallway leading to the room a couple of shaby, sleepy tourists were trying to peek over the cops' shoulder in order to see the body. The cop in question however, was one step ahead of them and had put the tape across the hall instead of the door, making it impossible to take a look.

"Ok, Hall." Brass said to the cop. "Keep 'em at bay, will you?"

"Sure thing, cap't Brass."

The cop stood aside to let them pass, shoving a Dolly Parton-lookalike aside. Brass gave the cop an approving nod before escorting the CSI's into the room.

The hotel room was no picture: dark furniture that had probably seen the Reagan presidency and chocolate coloured walls that could do with a new layer of paint judging from the white pieces of plasters here and there. The room was dominated by a bed with a headboard that would've supplied enough wood for a small cabin. On the bed a fully dressed male was lying as if he had simply let himself fall backward to take a nap. In the middle of his forehead a dark star seemed to have been edged. Catherine and Nick looked down on their latest victim.

"I suppose there is no chance he committed suicide." Catherine sighed.

"Well, unless he magically made the gun disappear…"

Nick looked around in a mock gesture, making Catherine laugh despite her initial grumpiness.

"Oh Nicky, never change. I'll do the bathroom."

Nick smiled before turning his attention to the body. Immediately his eyes fell on the blue shawl in the dead man's left hand. He held it as if his life depended on it. After photographing it from several angles, Nick bagged it and continued to look for possible evidence on and around the man. Next to the bed a black suitcase had fallen on a small carpet. Nick picked it up, at once surprised by its lightness.

"I got nothing." Catherine said, emerging from the bathroom. "This guy never even entered the bathroom, not even to take a leak."

"Well, I don't have that much more so far. A blue shawl and what appears to be an empty suitcase."

Nicked opened the suitcase, only to see his suspicion confirmed. He bagged it anyway and turned his attention to the wall above the headboard. A small hole quickly drew his attention.

"Hello!"

"What?" Catherine emerged from what appeared an examination of the underside of the bed.

"I got a bullet. Looks like it was a through and through. That would make sense." He added, pointing at the victims' forehead. "Look at the powder burn. This guy must've really looked down the barrel."

Without losing any more time Nick wiggled the bullet free.

"It looks small." Catherine said. "A point 22 possibly."

"Probably, but look at that discoloration. You don't see that often."

Catherine looked closer; the bullet did indeed look discoloured. "Looks like it's an old bullet."

Nick bagged the bullet just as David, the assistant-coroner entered.

"So, what do we have here?" He asked.

"Let me put it this way, super Dave, you're probably not going to have a tough time determining cause of death on this one." Nick said.

"Why? Oh, that's why." David added when he saw the man's face.

"Aha! Got something."

Catherine emerged from under the bed a second time. The two men looked a bit surprised as neither had noticed she had gotten down again.

"What did you find?"

"This." She said, holding up a digital camera. "Let's see what our John Doe liked. Damn, flat battery."

"We'll have Archie take a look at it in the lab." Nick said.

Meanwhile David started looking at the body.

"Lever temperature suggests he's been dead for 2 hours at the max. COD…well, no surprise there. And, aha, here's he's wallet. Say hello to mr. Frank Walters. Oho, he's a PI."

David handed the wallet over to Catherine who checked the man's credentials.

"Yep, we've got ourselves a dead private investigator. This case might actually become interesting."

On the other side of town, still inside the crimelab, Greg Sanders and Sarah Sidle were standing over a table looking at newspaper clippings.

"Greg? What are we doing?" Sarah asked, unsure why she was looking at clippings with titles as 'Can she really be back from the grave?' and 'After a mystery death, now a mystery afterlife'.

"Wel, my dear Sarah,…"

Sarah rolled with her eyes at the tone of Greg's voice; it was evident that he was very enthusiastic about something.

"Ecklie wants something clarified before it becomes mass hysteria. And I volunteered us for the task."

"What? Since when do you volunteer for any of Ecklies' jobs?"

By way of answer Greg lifted one of the clippings up; it showed a shady picture of what could be a woman in an Al Capone suit in front of a building.

"Ever hear of 'The Desert Rose'?"

Sarah could hear Greg's voice quiver with excitement.

"No, but I bet it's not a plant."

Greg grinned before starting his lecture.

"'The Desert Rose' was Las Vegas' most famous concubine. Men would fly half way across the planet for just one night in her arms. She is said to have slept with all the great man of her time. Rumour has it that someone once paid 300.000$ for a single night with her. A lass, at the age of only 29 this fair lady was murdered in the dressing room of her own club. The murderer was never caught. There are many mysteries surrounding 'The Desert Rose' but her death was the greatest of them all: shot in the head with a .22 and found in a locked room."

"She was a prostitute?" Sarah asked.

"Not just a prostitute." Greg said, a bit offended. "She was the queen of the night, the dark rose of this desert town, she…"

"Save it, Greg. What are we doing here?"

"Well, since a week there have been several sightings of her. Hold on, I know what you are going to say: 'Girls playing dress up' but it is much more than that. Several people who have actually known Rose Hunter, as the Desert Rose was really called, have seen her. Apparently this 'ghost' visits all the old places where Rose came. Now, normally we wouldn't pay much attention to this but apparently it's getting out of control; people are actually fighting with each other when they come across someone who looks a bit like the Rose."

"A frenzy?" Sarah asked disbelievingly.

"Yep, so now we have to sort things out and put a stop to it."

Sarah shook her head; now she understood why Greg had volunteered for the job. Greg's love for LV's history was legendary in the lab. She had to admit to herself that this ghost hunt didn't seem too unpleasant to her either.

"Ok." She said. "Let's do this. What do you have so far?"

Greg pointed to a map of Las Vegas with little red dots on it.

"That, a list of the sightings. Now all of these places can either be traced back to the Rose or are in between two of such places. Which means our 'ghost' seems to be travelling between the old places. This one…" Greg pointed at one end of the strip. "…is the Red Rose club, the Desert Rose's home. Incidentally, it was also founded by her and is now led by her old business partner, Sarah Day."

"Seems like a good place to start." Sarah said, feeling a lot more cheerful than when her shift had started.

The night was still young to Las Vegas' standards when Greg and Sarah arrived at The Red Rose club. The building itself had had its best time but nevertheless it seemed well kept. The black paint on the walls could not have been older than a year and the red neon lights in the form of a woman rising up from a rose were certainly not any older. Giving in to Greg's impatient enthusiasm, Sarah followed him into the club, only to be taken aback by the interior. There were all the other clubs had done their best to be the most modern club in town, The Red Rose seemed to have been suspended in time. Greg had shown Sarah several pictures of what the club had looked like on the inside at the time of the murder on The Desert Rose and it seemed to her that nothing had changed ever since. The furniture was new, she could see that, but it looked like exact replicas from the old days. Despite the dated impression it made on her, she also had to admit that it made her feel comfortable: it was different, it was more relaxing. And above all, the music wasn't as loud as in the other clubs or shows in town.

"Can I help you?"

A sweet brunette, no older than 23, walked over. Sarah noticed that, unlike in other clubs where there was no such thing as too naked, this girl's outfit was both elegant and sexy.

"Yes, we would like a word with the manager." Sarah said since Greg's eyes were wondering, not just over the girl's body but all over the place.

"I'm afraid that might not be so easy, miss." The brunette answered, still smiling. "We don't allow just everyone to go backstage and I'm afraid that's where miss Day is."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll make an exception for us." Sarah said sweetly, showing her badge to the girl.

Much to her surprise, the girl grabbed her badge and studied it.

"What's CSI?" She asked.

This time it was Greg who answered: "Crime Scene Investigation, my dear. And I'm pretty sure miss Day will want to talk to us."

The girl gave Sarah her badge back and disappeared for a moment, only to return with an older, grey man in a tuxedo.

"Good evening miss, mister, my name is Alfredo Dawks and I'm head of security here. Gladys said you two wanted a word with miss Day. If you will follow me."

He gallantly walked away, greeting several guests as he showed Greg and Sarah to a door on the right side of the bar. After ticking in a code it gave them access to a sober and light-coloured hallway. Dawks led them to a door on the far end of the hall and knocked.

"Miss Day?" He said opening the door. "Some policemen to see you."

A short answer came from inside the room and Dawks stood aside to let them in. The room could not have been any more different from the club than the CSI-lab from a yard sale: it was a modern room with all the luxury that usually was associated with the office of an executive of a million dollar company. The woman behind the white desk opposite the door was and elderly woman. Sarah would've have estimated her about 65 but Greg had told her earlier that Sarah Day was close to 75.

"What can I do for you, officers?" Sarah Day asked, gesturing a jewelled hand towards a couple of comfortable chairs in front of her.

"Oh, we're not officers." Greg said. "We're crime scene investigators. We're here at the request of sheriff Conrad Ecklie."

"Ecklie? Wow, haven't seen him around in a while. How's the old dog doing?"

Greg and Sarah tried to maintain a straight face as they were processing this bit of subtle and yet spicy information about the Sheriff.

"Eh, working hard on that budget." Was all Sarah could say.

"Mmmh." Sarah Day seemed to know more about that budget than she was saying, judging from the sly smile on her face.

Greg cleared his throat: "Eh, miss Day. As you might be aware there have been several sightings of 'The Desert Rose' in the past week."

For one moment Sarah thought she could see a hint of anger in the woman's eyes but then it was gone. Hey face was a mask of polite interest.

"Things are beginning to get a bit out of hand, you see. People are fighting over it in the streets. That's why we've been asked to investigate the matter." Greg continued.

"Oh boy." Day sighed. "Each year it turns into madness but I must admit that this year takes the price."

"How is that?"

"Well son, the anniversary of Rose's murder is coming up and each year a bunch of airheaded girls dress up as The Desert Rose and run across town and visit her grave. It seems to me that one of these girls might actually bear a certain resemblance to Rose."

"That might well be the case, miss Day." Sarah said. "But the sheriff asked us to investigate."

"I understand. I take it you would like to see her room?"

Greg and Sarah looked at each other with surprise.

"Oh yes, dears. The dressing room of The Desert Rose is intact. I've locked the door 32 years ago and haven't opened it since. Couldn't bring myself to clear it out. I suppose it would have felt like sacrilege."

Minutes later Greg and Sarah, now with their kits, were standing in front of an old door. Sarah Day handed Greg a key and walked away after confirming she was giving them access to the room to investigate it. Greg looked like Christmas had come early this year.

"Oh man, the dressing room of The Desert Rose!"

Greg's voice was quivering with enthusiasm as he opened the door. After turning the lights on Sarah took a look around: everything was covered by a thick layer of dust, nothing seemed disturbed. All by all an old, quiet room. Never the less she jumped up when Greg gasped.

"What?" She said irritated. "What is it?"

All Greg could do, apparently in shock, was point to a dark stain barely visible through the layer of dust on the floor. The stain was in front of an old dressing table, its chair knocked to one side.

"Is that…"

"Yes, that's the exact spot where she got killed." Greg answered. "Looks like they didn't even clean up the blood."

Greg started taking pictures as Sarah was going around the room.

"Hey Greg, what happened with the original case-file?"

"It's still in the archive. There's isn't much though: the bullet they recovered from that wall, next to the window and some pieces of paper. There wasn't much to go on."

"They kept it? Even after all this time?"

"Yep, even for the law some legends don't die so easily."

After he had finished photographing the place, Greg placed his camera on a table next to the door and walked over to a void next to the dressing table.

"Hey Sarah, look at this."

Sarah walked over: "What am I looking at?"

"Nothing. There is nothing here: every cm of the walls in this rooms are covered with furniture, clothing racks or pictures but not this spot."

Greg turned around: "There; that basket looks like it could fit in the void. It's been moved."

"Yeah, but judging from the dust it's been moved 32 years ago, Greg. Most likely the police did that."

"I don't know, everything else seems just in place. Why wouldn't they have put this back?"

Greg got down on his knees and examined the spot. He blew away some of the dust and examined the wall and ground more carefully.

"Hey, look at that!"

Greg pointed at the plinth; about 30 cm's apart there were two very narrow stripes, as if that particular piece of plinth had been replaced. Greg took his pocketknife and, while Sarah took extra photo's, loosened the piece of plinth. Much to their surprise a secret cavity became visible.

"Well, hello secret!" Greg said.

"Is there something in there?"

Greg put his hand in.

"No, looks like it's been emptied. Wait, I got something."

Greg's hand emerged holding and old picture. Getting up to show it to Sarah, Greg turned it around so he could see the image.

"Well, I'll be dammed."

Greg and Sarah stared at the picture: it was a picture of The Desert Rose. But, unlike in any other picture that existed of her, it wasn't glamorous or sexy. It was The Rose dressed as a normal woman, with a dress fitting for a housewife. But still, that wasn't the most remarkable thing about the image; the most remarkable thing was that she was holding a baby in her arms. She was holding the baby as if she would never let it go, smiling into the camera in the way of a proud mother.

"She had a child." Greg said disbelievingly. "She was a mother."

Back in the CSI lab Nick was buzzy with AFIS. Most of the prints taken at the hotel had come up with names of people with minor misdemeanours on their names, proving yet again that cleaning was not a top priority in some hotels. Frank Walters' prints had come up, off course, as well as a lot of unidentified prints of people who hadn't had the pleasure of 'meeting the system' yet.

"Hey Nick."

Nick spun around to see Henry standing in the doorway.

"What is it?"

"Catherine wants to see you. I think she found something on your dead PI's camera."

Nick walked over to the digital analysis lab, where Archie and Catherine were staring at a monitor.

"And? Anything interesting?" Nick asked upon entering the lab.

Catherine turned around: "You could say that. You're not going to believe this, come take a look."

Nick approached and saw several pictures of a young woman in a Al Capone-suit with her hat askew pass by.

"So? Normal pictures, I guess."

"Not really." Archie said enthusiastically. "These are all surveillance photo's; I don't think she knew they were taken. Judging from the technical data the oldest were taken 3 days ago, the youngest this evening."

"But that's not the really interesting part, Nicky." Catherine added. "You know Greg is looking into those sightings of The Desert Rose at the request of Ecklie? Well, so was our guy and it looks like Walters had found her."

"You're serious?" Nick stared at the last picture. "Greg is going to go ballistic when he finds out."

Catherine nodded: "Guess the mystery has come back to town."

5


End file.
